Letters
by JuliettaRoselovesARSpnt
Summary: Alex get assigned to therapy. It doesn't go well. His homework is to write to ten people and tell him how he feels about them. This should be interesting.{Please be nice this is my first story.
1. Chapter 1

Letters

Alex almost failed a mission. Blunt didn't see it that way. He only saw the word fail. Alex blanked out ten seconds into the rant that he was becoming to reckless. He was thinking about how much it would hurt if he jumped out the window. He was getting desperate; this rant has been going on for nine minutes now. He was about to stride to the window and… wait was that silence. Oops. He looked up, they were staring at him. The only thing he could think of was to cough awkwardly.

"Alex, were you even listening?" Asked Ms. Jones. "Ah. Not really." I sighed.

I thought so, we, Mr. Blunt and I think you need some time off and we are assigning you a therapist and before you interrupt. (Could she read my mind?) It is mandatory. We will have agents escort you there and wait outside the door so don't think about skipping.

I sighed. Muttered whatever and stalked out the room. He heard be ready at 10 am tomorrow on his way out. The trip on the elevator was awkward; this young agent kept staring at him with a glare that screamed hatred. He was probably wondering what a little kid like me was doing wandering the halls that he had to fight to a place in. If only he knew. As I got off the elevator and toward the front door the security guard nodded at him understandingly. He was on shift that day IT happened. Every time I walk out and see that spot that is faded a dark brown color, I get chills down my back. I practically run to my car and speed away. I don't calm down till I close the front door. I slide down the door and just stare at nothing, thinking to the time where he heard Jack singing along to a wrenching song of Beyoncé's and practically murdering a pot of pasta. I smiled at the bittersweet thought. It has almost been two years to the day that Jack has died. I got emancipated two days after my fifteenth birthday. I got to keep the house if I kept working for them. Whatever. What do I have to lose anyway?

I went upstairs and took a long, hot shower. That always makes me relax. I offered to do paperwork for other agents because I don't go to school anymore since I got myand I have nothing else to do when I am not on missions. So I ordered some Chinese and did paperwork while watching some cable for a few hours. Then I went to bed dreading what was coming tomorrow.

I woke up at 5:30 in a cold sweat. It was the usually. Watching the jeep blow up and hearing Jack say it was my fault. I untangle myself from my sheets and put on some sweats and head out for a run. Half an hour later, I came back and drowned a cup of coffee. I had another shower. I then buried myself in paperwork waiting for the agent to arrive. A few hours later, the dreaded knock came. I sighed and grabbed my jacket and walked out the door. I completely ignored the agent and stalked to my car. I motioned him to get in and sped off. My jaw was clenched up the whole time. I pulled up to a building that couldn't look happier. It looked like a jail to me. There was a welcome mat and everything. Gag. I groaned and got out of the car. I walked past the cheery secretary who had the biggest smile I have ever seen and sat in a black, plastic chair in the waiting room. I jammed my ear plugs into my ears and turned on my music loud enough that everyone could hear. I saw the agent talking to the secretary and shouting glances over at me. Five minutes later, my name was called. I didn't hear so the agent had to come and tap me on the shoulder. Good thing my eyes were open so my instincts didn't kick in and attack him. One rule that I have is NEVER EVER touch me unless you have a death wish. I followed the secretary to the last room on the left. The whole room was white. White chairs, white desk, white carpet and walls. I wanted to scream. At the desk was a plump women around forty five. Guess what she was wearing. Yup, White. White shoes, white dress and whiting hair. I sat down in a white chair next to the window and waited for her to join me. She grabbed a clip board and sat down across from me.

"So, she said, what do you want to talk about?" I just stared at her. "Okay I will start. Tell me about you, I did not get your file so I don't know anything about you. Tell me about your family. Siblings and parents, what do your parents do for a living?"

"Nothing." I said. "Nothing, what do you mean?" She looked confused. "Their dead." I say blankly, putting on my mask of no emotion. "Oh, she said, do you have any siblings? Who do you live with?"

"I don't have any siblings. I am emancipated." Can she get the hint and move on like seriously. What is your friend situation like, how many friends did you say you have?"

I think she should retire or get checked out for Alzheimer's or something like that.

"I don't really have any." "Well you must have at least have one?"

"I guess one or two." I lied.

"Well time is up for now but this is your homework. Find ten people and write a letter to them explaining how you feel. You don't have to send it and I won't read it. I want this done by next week. See you next week. "She smiled and I felt nauseous.

I walked out the door and told the agent to get his own ride home. I ran to the car and drove away while thinking hallelujah. It was when I had to stop at a red light that I realized what I had to do and the only thought I had was "Oh shit".


	2. Letters 1

Author's note: Brackets in letter are thoughts.

Letter #1

Forty seven minutes. That is how long I have been starring at the pad and pencil. Forty seven minutes and not one thing has come to my mind. Where do I even start? It seems so simple; pick up the pencil and move it across the paper. Easy as pie. I have been through life threatening situations but I can't write a letter.

Okay lets start easy. Who do I send it to? My friends? The only one I can really think of is Tom. Tom moved to Italy with his brother. He got tired of his parents fight. Can't really say I blame him. He also got tired of me not telling the truth about the missions and what they were doing to me. He told me to give him some time and to call him when I am ready to tell him the truth. He sends me a postcard every couple of months to let me know he is okay.

Okay, a letter to Tom. Here it goes.

Dear Tom,

How are you? (Oh god)

I am okay I guess. Getting along. I still work for Them if you know what I mean. They are making me go to therapy. Literally, with a guy dressed like he is out of a James Bond movie that picks me up and stays with me the whole time and everything. My therapist, Dr. Sunshine and rainbows, has assigned me homework. Yah! For this homework I have to write to ten people I know and tell them how I fell. You know how I am at expressing my feeling so this should be bumpy.

So I don't think I need to tell you that you are my best friend, always have been, always will be no matter where you are. Since the sandbox days, you have always had my back and stood by me even when I was wrong. When people at school made fun of me and called me names, I felt alone, even though I would never admitted it to anyone, I felt alone. It was when I heard you tell them to bugger off and look at me and roll your eyes, I knew I truly wasn't. And even though I would laugh and make a sarcastic joke about them, I always regretted not saying thank you to you. So here it is, thank you.

So many times when you asked me to tell you how I was after a mission, I wanted to tell you how I was, I wanted to break down my wall, take my emotional mask off and tell you everything. But I couldn't, I couldn't bring myself to let you know how I felt. I was afraid that if I told you, you wouldn't want to be friends with a monster like me. I was scared. There I said it. I was scared. Wow this letter thing might actually work.

So Tommy boy, maybe I should send you this so then you might come back. I doubt it though; it seems you seem to really like it there, from your post cards I mean. This is all I really have to say so bye Tommy.

Your best mate,

Alex

That actually sounded like it was written for a soap opera. Hey my best mark wasn't in English. I just hope this will get them off my back. One down, nine down to go. Fun!


End file.
